Enigma
by The Sarcastic Typo
Summary: Who does Charles think about when he's trying to relax? SLASH.


**Title: Enigma  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Who does Charles think about when he's trying to relax?  
Pairing: Charles/Klinger, SMALL implication of BJ/Hawkeye  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I really don't.  
**

Charles sighed contentedly - or as contentedly as he could get, sitting in The Swamp in Korea and not back in his home in Boston - as he listened to his precious music. The classless buffoons he was forced to share his quarters with were out pickling their livers, so he had the entire place to himself. It was just as well, since they never appreciated his music anyway. Charles sniffed; obviously, some people just did not know good music when they heard it.

Charles gazed around the pitiful excuse for shelter and wondered if and when he would ever be let out of this hell on earth. The hours were excruciating, the food was inedible, and the people were insufferable.

Well, mostly. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he could've probably ended up with a worse group of people, maybe. Hunnicutt and Pierce got on his nerves easily, but they weren't _all_ terrible - not that he'd admit that to anyone, of course.

Margaret Houlihan was definitely a woman who was hard to describe; she was beautiful, but also nothing short of insane. She had her moments, but then, she was also prone to giving Charles massive headaches - some worse than he received after waking up from drinking far too much the night before.

Colonel Potter seem decent enough, even if he was too folksy for Charles' tastes at times. Really, would it _kill_ him to speak a little more eloquently? He was the commanding officer! It also would've been nice if the man didn't _insist_ on keeping him here against his will - nevermind the fact that nearly everyone was here against their will. A Winchester's will mattered a little bit more than any common person's.

Charles frowned; he wasn't sure how much he meant or believed that, anymore. He used to pride himself on being the best and he used to love showing that off - after all if you have it, flaunt it - and he still did, but it seemed as if occasionally he would care more for another person than himself. It was unsettling, allowing people to see him as human, sometimes. That left the breeding ground open for people to see him as vulnerable, and if there was anything Charles hated, it was being vulnerable, or even _appearing_ to be vulnerable.

If there was one person in this whole godforsaken MASH unit who had seen him at his worst, at his _most_ vulnerable, it would be none other than Corporal Max Klinger. That night of the windstorm had not exactly been his best; he'd actually _admitted_ to being frightened!

Klinger was a very peculiar man; he'd do absolutely anything to get out of the army, nothing ever seemed to work, and yet he didn't give up. Charles supposed they had that in common, even though he didn't really want to have _anything_ in common with the inferior corporal.

Charles sighed again as he realized he didn't really find Klinger inferior to him in anyway. The man was... an enigma, something like Charles himself, and he puzzled him. Somehow, he left him wanting to know more, and that didn't sit well with Charles at all. _He_ was supposed to be the one able to control others, not the one to let others able to control him!

Though it seemed as if Klinger didn't really want much control over him; he just wanted to be decent, cheeky, and maybe slightly annoying, but he didn't really mean any harm. Charles wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

However, whether the control was intended or not, it was there; it was what kept Charles musing about the man when he was supposed to be simply lying down and relaxing to his music. It was what kept him dreaming about the man.

The first dream had come as quite a shock and he'd woken up abruptly. He'd been drenched in sweat and more than a little aroused by the dream, which he did not like and would not stand for. Charles Emerson Winchester III did _not_ have erotic dreams about other men, _especially_ about other men who wore dresses, and he did _not_ enjoy them.

Trying to prove this theory to himself, the next day he was as icy as ever to Klinger. If the man should happen to talk to him, he'd simply make some disparaging comment and leave. If he tried to sit down at the same table in the Mess tent, he'd just ignore him.

It didn't work.

In fact, the nastier he seemed to be towards Klinger during the day, the more intense the dreams turned out to be at night. And after waking up for the third time in the same night, he decided that he'd just not let these dreams affect him at all. He'd treat Klinger with his same indifference as he treated anyone. That ought to make the dreams go away.

Except it didn't.

After a few weeks of enduring these merciless dreams, it seemed as though a few people had started to notice his peculiar behavior. Pierce had asked him in his smart ass way what was wrong and he simply ignored the question; when Margaret asked him, he simply told her it was nothing and excused himself. But then the problem himself asked him.

Charles closed his eyes, suddenly, remembering that day.

"_Major? Is there something wrong?" Klinger called, sounding curious._

"_Hmm, no, nothing," Charles replied in the most indifferent tone he could manage._

"_Are you sure? You've been acting strangely lately."_

"_Yes, well, you would be the one to know about that, wouldn't you? Being the personification of 'strange'." _

_Klinger sighed. "Nevermind, Major." The man walked away._

_Trying to quench his disappointment, Charles made his way to Post Op._

_Later that day - more specifically night - Charles returned to The Swamp to find Pierce asleep, as Hunnicutt had just relieved him from Post Op duty. He was tired and about ready to go to sleep himself when he saw a piece of paper lying on his pillow. He picked it up._

_**Meet me in the supply tent as soon as you get this. Come alone. **_

_Puzzled, Charles was curious and decided to head over the supply tent. He kept his guard up, lest this was another nefarious prank cooked up by the likes of Pierce and Hunnicutt. When he entered the supply tent, he didn't see anyone immediately. Someone walked up behind him._

"_Major,"_

_Charles jumped. "Corporal! Do not sneak up on a superior officer like that!" he exclaimed._

"_Sorry, sir," Klinger replied, not looking the least bit contrite. "I needed to talk to you,"_

"_Yes, I gathered as much from your 'mysterious' letter. What is it?"_

"_Tell me why you've been acting different around me."_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_You know what I'm talking about. You went from being indifferent around me, to hating me, to indifferent again, to being nearly civil - what happened?" _

"_I have no idea what you are talking about," _

"_You know, sometimes I get tired of people thinking I'm an idiot. I'm really not that stupid. I notice when people start treating me different for seemingly no reason whatsoever, and I really would like to know what the reason is."_

_Charles was uncharacteristically struck mute for a few minutes. When he regained his composure, he merely sneered. "Maybe it is none of your business? Did you ever consider that?"_

"_If it involves me, it's my business." Klinger stepped closer. Charles stepped back._

"_It does not concern you! Leave me alone!" Charles replied angrily, and attempted to stalk out of the supply tent. Klinger grabbed his arm, though, and pulled him back. "Let go of me," _

_Klinger's eyes looked thoughtful for a second, as he processed the tone in which that command was given. His hand didn't move. "That's it," he whispered. "You don't **want** me to let go, do you?"_

"_Of course I do, you fool!" However, Charles' voice sounded much more frightened than intimidating._

"_Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?" Klinger asked, moving closer. "Because I," he moved closer still, "don't mind."_

_Charles' mind was screaming at him to yank out of the other man's grip and get the hell OUT of the supply tent as fast as possible; getting his legs to cooperate was another matter entirely. He was frozen to the spot. _

_And that's when it happened - Klinger's face moved impossibly closer, and they kissed. Charles' should've pulled away, disgusted, he should've ran right to the Colonel's office to report Klinger, he should've done a lot of things. He didn't. He merely stood there, allowed Klinger to kiss him, and even returned the kiss._

Charles opened his eyes, abruptly. He remembered the night after that, where he tried to fool himself by pretending that it had been a horrible kiss, that he'd met countless others who could kiss better, and that it hadn't left him wanting more.

He'd kept up this charade for an entire week, before Klinger dragged him back into the supply tent and messed with his mind even more.

Charles really shouldn't have allowed it to turn into a weekly thing; he was damned if he could've helped it though. He hated the fact that he somehow seemed to _need_ the corporal, but he reveled in it as well. If it wasn't one of the things keeping him sane in this place, it would surely be driving him _in_sane.

Suddenly, his two debauched and plastered roommates stumbled in through the door. Charles crinkled up his nose in disgust; he could _smell_ the alcohol on them from where he was sitting.

They were falling all over each other - not that that was really dependent on their state of sobriety, as they normally hung all over each other anyway - and looked to be struggling to reach their respective cots. Charles watched disdainfully as they passed out immediately the moment they did.

Sighing, Charles turned off his music and laid down on his cot in an attempt to get some sleep. After a few minutes, he was lulled into dreams of a certain corporal by the quiet, but not quite silence, of the world around him.

End


End file.
